


Kept Wanting

by NewAgeAlice



Series: His to Keep Series [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Romance, Sequel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14485581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeAlice/pseuds/NewAgeAlice
Summary: The long awaited sequel to His to Keep.It's been a year since Rick abandoned you. Everything is in ruins and you're just trying to survive even though your heart is destroyed.





	1. Aching and Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up and drops this off like she was never gone, tilting her sunglasses at you like it's a gift, then drives off*

Slowly, you opened your eyes, flinching briefly against the sunlight that flooded your vision. The wind battered your clothes and body as you looked at your surroundings in confusion. The shield beacon stood a few feet to your left, and Arestis lay sprawling before you. 

You realized that you were atop town hall just as your heart lurched in your chest; with the sun setting, and the town intact, this moment was no different than a moment so long ago. You exhaled a struggling breath as you closed your eyes against the emotions rising inside of you.

“He's gone, he's never coming back,” you whispered to yourself, biting your lip harshly to contain the searing pain erupting from your chest. You lifted a flask to your lips, taking a long pull from the silver container before abruptly tossing it away from you.

Memories were assaulting you, flooding in from every sight before you; you turned on your heel, intending to flee from the place, desperate to distance yourself from the torment your mind threw at you.

As you turned, your whole world froze, tilting the planet on it's axis as the ground tilted beneath your feet. You remained standing, but even the blood within your veins stilled; your heart beat was silent as you took in the image before you.

He was there. Standing on the roof, just as he had before. His brow was deeply creased, an expression of pain reflecting the image of your stunned face back at you. His gaze listed to the side before rising again to meet yours, his hands silently raised in a wordless invitation. 

A sob ripped itself from your lips as you threw yourself into his arms, clutching to him while tears streaked down your face. He caught you, pressing you to himself, his hold as fierce as the raspy sobs racked your frame.

“You left! You left and you didn't come back!” You wailed, fisting your hands into his lab coat, “You left me here alone, with no idea how to get back to you!”

His hands were not gentle as he gripped you tighter, the side of his jaw pressing into your hair; his chest was heaving against your face, betraying the silence he upheld. Despite your aggressive hold on him, your knees gave beneath you, threatening to drop your body at his feet.

With a kindness he had never truly shown, he lowered himself to the ground, still gripping you tightly; he made no move to comfort you, simply matching the intensity of your grasp as though he sought to make you part of him.

You felt hollow inside as your tears fell freely, straining his shirt and emptying you of your resolve; you had spent the better part of a year just trying to forget him, trying to survive the feeling of _lacking_ that permeated your every moment. You struggled, and you suffered, all for the sake of trying to move through your life.

In this moment, pressed against him, you admitted the one thing you refused to acknowledge; you went through all of it, just for the hope of possibly being with him again. And now you were, even if only for a moment.

The strangled sound of a poorly concealed gasp brought you from your reflection, drawing your attention to the source. You turned your head against his body, held so tightly by his grasp; from the position you could only see the bottom of his expression.

His mouth trembled as he struggled to hold his expression of indifference, but just along his chin, a thin trail of tears had gathered, quietly slipping into your hair before you had even noticed.

As you watched the hanging tears build, something in your chest grew tense and strained, accompanied by a thought that had never occurred to you before. Lifting your hands to cradle his face, one wet gaze meeting another, you studied him for a moment.

“You...” you began, trying to find the words to fit your shock, “it hurt you, too, didn't it?”

He made a small sound in response, something akin to a masculine whimper disguised as a grunt. You found it endearing, that even now, with tears streaking his face, he refused to allow his emotions to touch him fully; at the same time, it was a relief, to know that he felt something for the way he abandoned you.

Your arms shifted to slide over his shoulders, your forehead pressing against his as your eyes closed; sharing breaths between the two of you, words began to tumble from your lips.

“When you left, Rick, I felt like this planet had nothing left for me. I don't belong here anymore, and it's blatantly obvious, when I look at what remains of my city. You seared a mark into my life that can never fade; I've drank myself into oblivion, trying to forget you, forget us, and forget everything we did. But I can't!” Your voice rose without warning, breaking softly as your tears started anew, “I can't even leave my house without seeing the ruins of everything that we did...”

Slowly, horror filled your mind as you spoke; your words trickled into your mind, whispering again and again that something was not fitting correctly. You made to turn your head, knowing that the sight of the intact city would prove all your fears correct.

Rick's hand quickly gripped the side of your face, holding your gaze locked to his as his expression grew more and more pained. Finally, he spoke, his words weak, soft, and raspy, “D-don't look. I know....I know it's not real. J-just....let me have this moment. Just this moment.”

Your heart shattered at his words and you watched as his pain grew; your sorrow and frustration returned, rising to match his.

“I don't....I dunno who-erp-whose dream this is, yours or m-mine, but please,” his voice broke, his fingers digging into your skin, “Please just let...let me have this.”

Your tears fell in earnest now, coating your face in the evidence of your pain; for a brief moment, you imagined how the two of you must look from the outside.

Two lovers, together but for a moment. Separated by literal galaxies and who knows what else.

You leaned in, just as he did the same, your lips meeting gently. The kiss was slow, filled with all the pain and longing that you both felt; his fingers trembled across your cheek, tracing your jaw as he pulled away.

His pained expression remained as his fingers lingered below your chin, the memory of his touch ghosting along your flesh. His words did not match his face, “I-I have to forget you.”

Cold seeped into your bones as the sky darkened overhead, casting everything in slate lighting; he withdrew from you carefully, his eyes evolving. His steely mask fell over his face, seeming to dry his tears immediately; you remained kneeling on the cold tile of the roof, your face upturned to him.

“H-how,” you sobbed, “How can you forget me, when I can't EVER FORGET YOU?!” Your words echoed across the building, your own weakness screaming in your ears.

He tucked his hands into his coat, his shoulders pulled up in discomfort, “Just-just do it, erp. It's not like,” with a pause, his pain flashed across his face, gone in a second, “it's not like it's lo-love.”

With his last words, he began to fade, changing everything around you. The wind howled, the skies overcast and roiling with imposing rain. As the sky opened up, and the rain began pouring, you sobbed.

Your body was chilled, devoid of all the relief and comfort you had felt, leaving only room for the despair to fill you. The world became cacophonous around your small frame, pressing you against the unforgiving ground beneath your knees.

The destruction contained within you was worse still than the world around you; your fingers were going numb, your heart was gripped so hard by grief that in that moment, you thought only one thing.

_Please, just kill me! Let this be the end!_

But the universe was not so kind; no, it was cruel, if only in small moments of agony. And you remained there, screaming, tearing yourself apart from the inside, until at last you were given reprieve.

You shot up in your bed, waking from the dream with such force that your body immediately curled around itself, grasping your knees to your chest as your tears moved from fictitious to reality. 

You pressed your eyes against your knees as you sobbed, refusing to look at what your life had become in the absence of Rick; bottles littered the house, empty glasses strewn about as you got too wasted to remember them.

Your room was trashed, just as it was every night; in the morning, you would put it back together, just to destroy it again once you were drunk. Your camera had long been dismantled and shattered, lost forever to the disaster that your life and mind had become.

The city had never been rebuilt, and your job became void; eventually the city agreed to pay you for keeping watch over the one thing that remained there for you.

The beacon still functioned, stuck to the top of the Town Hall, mocking you relentlessly each day as you went to check it. It provided the protection that your city still required, hiding everything from the Federation.

The absolute truth was that you, empty inside and decaying from the inside out, were left in a dead city, protecting only what remained; memories of things that were long gone, and the promise that they would never return.  
Sitting in your bed, your whole world crumbling all over again, you ached; you whispered his name, wanting, knowing that there was nothing to answer you.

And even with that knowledge, you sat. You ached. And you wanted.


	2. The Unchanging Rick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *also drops this one while driving by, all nonchalant like*

Morty hated to think it, but over time, nothing had really changed; there had never been a moment of absolute despair for his grandfather. He kept waiting to see some sign that the man suffered in the absence of their brief partner. But it never came.

At night, he would lay in his single bed, looking at the posters around his room, and just remember; he thought of the sparse moments when he had actually gotten to see Rick interacting with the woman. He had kept his air of superiority, but his edges had been softer; he was gruff, but he seemed to make an effort to be more gentle with the alien.

After Rick had returned, Morty had expected the girl to be with him, but she had not, and once he realized that, his anger ate at him; he didn't understand how his grandfather could just leave her behind, when it was plainly obvious that she affected him. For an entire week after, he would wander by Rick's lab, hoping to see her stepping through a portal. But again, it never happened.

Instead, he watched as Rick continued through his life as though nothing mattered; he drank as much as he liked, if not slightly more, and showed no sign of remorse. The only thing notable to Morty had been that his grandfather took to spending more nights in the bunker, sleeping in the room where she had been kept.

The first time he witnessed Rick passed out there, Morty paused; his grandfather looked entirely open, his mask removed and his walls broken. Even with alcohol dripping from his open mouth, pain creased the man's brow, his alcohol-induced slumber betraying some hidden feeling within him. Morty started when Rick turned onto his side, gently whispering her name in an agonized voice.

He chose to leave him, then, alone with his dreams and his regrets and whatever else the man hid behind walls thicker than mountains; he would mourn in his own way, in his own time, and most likely within bottles of liquor. 

Morty, however, mourned in only the way he knew how, with hoping. He hoped that his grandfather would change, or at least show something. He hoped that she would somehow find a way to them, that she would show up and reveal all the things in Rick that Morty had always hoped were there.

But it had been a year, and nothing ever came of it.

Time seemed to ease the wound that once festered within Morty, allowing him to return to the boy he had always been. He wondered, though, when he was awake at night, remembering the foreign planet, whether or not Rick felt anything anymore.

It was during the night, as he recalled his grandfather's harsh words about leaving her, that he heard something he'd never heard before. In the silence of a house full of sleeping people, a muffled cry echoed. 

Standing and slowly moving towards his bedroom door, Morty opened it slightly, his ears peaked to hear a repeat of the sound. As he moved into the hallway, it came again; this time, it was very obviously a sob concealed behind the sounds of a portal closing. The air became electrically charged as another portal opened, only to close moments later; following the sound was easy, given that Morty already knew where it was coming from.

The door that connected the house to the garage had been hastily slammed, leaving a small crack where it had bounced off of the frame; even the bolt had been thrown, finding a home in only empty space. He stood before the door, closing his eyes against everything he had glimpsed.

Rick stood by his bottle-littered workbench, one hand steadying him, and the other clutching his portal gun. Over and over, he opened portals, glanced within, and closed them; drunkenly searching for her. Portal after portal, his frustration grew, his composure degrading with each failed attempted; he furiously whispered to himself, asking where she could be, how to find her, and that it'd be best to not try.

After moments of listening, Morty pushed the door open slowly, trying not to startle the inebriated man, “Rick....”

The man straightened abruptly, slamming his portal gun on the table as he turned away from his grandson, “W-what-erp?” He barked, slurring the word like an accusation.

Morty lifted a hand to the back of his head, gently rubbing his neck as he tried to approach the topic, “We....we can find her, Rick. When you're...when you're s-sober. We can find her,” he offered, his voice timid beneath the force of what he had seen.

Rick scoffed in reply, grasping and gulping down another bottle in a few swallows, “Wha....what m-makes you think -erp- that I even w-want to f-find her, huh?” He belched, then, filling the room with the scent of large quantities of alcohol.

“I...I heard you crying, and, and I saw what you w-were doing, Rick,” Morty whispered.

Suddenly, Rick turned to face him, his expression revealing perhaps the most confusing thing Morty had ever seen. His grandfather was far more drunk than he had ever seen him, his eyes unfocused and wet; despite that lingering wetness, there were no tear stains on his face. In fact, Rick looked completely bored and unimpressed with the entire situation.

Morty backed away slightly, trying to wrap his mind around everything; he had very clearly heard Rick sobbing, and yet the man had not shed a tear. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked at his grandfather.

_Was he really sobbing without a single tear?_

Something about the situation sent chills crawling along his skin, setting his teeth on edge as he looked at his completely blank grandfather. Dread filled him as he looked at the man, realizing at once that he had been mistaken.

He had seen many over dramatic displays of emotion when Rick had been drunk; he had even seen him cry quite a few times. But those moments had always been grandiose, almost like parodies of someone experiencing a feeling; this was very clearly something entirely different.

Rick listed to the side as he stood being assessed, his balance thrown off by booze and the situation; Morty rushed forward to help steady him. Waving his hands aggressively at the boy, he righted himself, clutching his bottle closer to himself.

Morty looked away from him, worry eating at his stomach, “Grandpa Rick?”

“W-what, Morty?”

“N-Nothing, just....just get some sleep, okay?” And then he left, despite the feeling of dread clouding his mind.

 

Watching him leave, Rick could feel his anger prickle; he had been weak, he had broken, and Morty had heard it. Even with the alcohol singing through his veins, he knew that this was a new low for himself. He had done his best to forget, to ignore and conceal all the things that he still felt regarding... _her._

He had even managed to steel himself against his emotions for a while, holding everything at such a distance that it had managed to fade. Had he not had the dream the night before, perhaps today would have been the day he forgot completely.

But he hadn't. And he did have the dream.

He could still see her face as she ran towards him, sobbing his name as she fell into his arms; he could even smell her shampoo, wafting from her hair as she dried her everflowing tears against his shirt.

He hadn't anticipated the relief he had felt; the moment of suddenly realizing that he had been missing something only once he had it returned. In that single second, he could not lie to himself any longer, and he finally gave the tears that had been begging to be released for so long.

He had missed her.

And now, in a drunken stupor, he realized that there was no amount of alcohol or running that could change that. He had been searching for her, even when he was so far gone that he had forgotten her name. 

He thought that perhaps he could let it slide, in all honesty, had it been the first time that he caught himself doing it; but it wasn't. He had spent many nights getting incredibly wasted, only to come to sudden clarity as he randomly input coordinates into the portal gun, seeking her once more. Every time that he realized his intentions, he would drink more, before descending into the room where she had stayed just to sleep.

He knew that his emotions were trying to make themselves known, but he didn't much care to acknowledge them; he reminded himself that she was better off. 

His anger rose again, shaming him and reprimanding him for displaying weakness; Morty had finally stopped checking in the garage for her, and now he was sure to start again.

Rick pressed his palms against his face, trying to sort his frustration while he came face to face with this newest obstacle; not only was he failing to get over things, but now he was letting his emotions bleed into reality.

If only he could get the memory of her lips out of his mind, forget about the way her body felt when it was pressed against his; the memories taunted him, always reminding him of how she made him feel, how he made her feel.

He sagged against his workbench, holding his face as he tried to keep it together, while desperately wanting to let go; in the end, letting go won out, and he crumpled to the floor of the garage, his pain obvious, yet hidden so well.

He let himself have the moment, thinking of her and everything that had happened; he had abandoned her in a world he destroyed, just for the sake of keeping himself shut down. And even that hadn't worked.

_At least I let her go. At least she has a chance at being normal, now._

He felt himself curling up on the floor as tears continued to fill, but never leave, his eyes; he let his thoughts stray farther as he pictured her face, and the way she had smiled at him so many times.

_I wasn't a super genius to her. I wasn't a god. I was just a man. A good man._

Something darker lurched beneath his bittersweet thoughts, biting at the inside of his rib cage while he finally began to drift to sleep.

_If only that were true._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't proofread. Let me know if there are any errors or anything.


	3. Remember to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories, memories, memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little bit longer, the creative juices are flowing, but not for this one right this second. I'm going to take a day or two to write this other thing that my brain just won't let go, and then I'll be back!
> 
> Oh, and the last part is for you, BadWolf16
> 
> You did this!

It was early evening by the time you managed to pull yourself out of bed after the dream. You had to admit to yourself that you were surprised that you cried as much as you had, given that you were under the impression that you were cried out. Over the last year, you had discovered your threshold for tears was actually quite high; it had taken nearly six months straight of crying nightly before you were reduced to dry sobbing.

With your mind foggy from the tears, and your eyes swollen, you made the motions of pulling on your clothes, preparing yourself to do the one job you were required to do. In a desperate attempt to halt the building headache behind your eyes, you swallowed a pair of painkillers, and left your house.

Walking through the ruins of your city gave you a feeling not unlike the emotional hollowness that filled you late at night, when you were left alone with the demons that plagued the farthest reaches of your mind. The feeling of lacking had returned in full force, made all the more obvious now by the awareness of knowing the opposite; even now there was a strange empty space hidden within your chest that you could not quite locate. All you knew was that it was there, and you desperately wished that it wasn't.

Small pieces of debris scattered as you walked, skipping and bouncing off of your shoes as you carelessly made your way towards the Town Hall. From here the shield beacon was visible, a thin trailing beam of light cast into an unknown point; logically, you knew that somewhere above it met the center of the force field that covered your entire city. Occasionally, when the weather was particularly bad, or the local star system began spitting out electromagnet pulses, the grid would be visible, pulsing like a living thing across the sky.

As it was now, with the sun going down and clouds barely gathering overhead, all that could be felt of the shield was the gentle thrum resonating from far below your feet; once you got closer to the building, the rumbling rose to meet the soles of your shoes. 

Weaving through the building was so well ingrained in your memory now that you did so purely out of muscle memory, passing through rooms and doorways without really looking at your surroundings. When you came to stand before the door that would open to the rooftop, you paused, your gaze focusing on the doorknob as the images from the night before threatened to choke you. After biting down the swelling emotions, you grasped the knob, and threw the door open, diving head-first past the things clawing at your insides.

The roof looked no different than any other roof you'd been on; it wasn't particularly daunting, high, or dangerous. Even though you took a deep breath to steady your racing heart, you could find no physical thing that could account for the sorrow that eclipsed you.

Checking on the beacon was easy, you knew, especially when you'd done it so many times before; it was the act of crossing the roof, touching the things _he_ had touched, that was difficult. Still, you forced yourself forward, forced yourself to do it, because doing this was the only thing standing between you and the bottles waiting for you at home. 

As your fingers brushed through the various stages of prompting that came from the beacon, you allowed your mind to wander back to the things you had gone through the past year.

You thought of the first few weeks after he had left, where you filled your mind so full of science that you woke with equations on your lips, all the while seeking a way to find him, a way back to him. None of the knowledge you kept had helped, only leading you to nights full of raging against the failings of your own brain, and desperately trying to teach yourself the things _he_ had had an entire life time to learn.

When the tide of science lessons receded, it left a lot of time at night that you couldn't figure out how to fill. At first you tried returning to your past time of photography, but taking pictures of the destruction around you only made you feel dead inside. It was only when your misery had nearly consumed you that you took to the bottle.

A small smirk played along your lips as you tapped through sequence after sequence, mildly amused by the irony of you having run to the very same thing _he_ depended on. You admitted to yourself, however, that it proved to be quite an effective method of forgetting what feelings were, at least until you woke up the next morning and discovered the evidence of how much you actually felt while drunk. Your room was always trashed the next day, and even through your hangovers, you could feel the familiar cloudiness of having cried.

Still, you would return to the drink, seeking the brief respite that the liquor gave you from your feelings; it may not last, but even a few moments of peace were enough to keep you coming back.

A finger swipe brought the sequences for the beacon to a close, silencing the thrumming beneath your feet for only a second before it began again; you could remember clearly the first time you experienced this moment.

_It had taken you a few days before you discovered the directions to resetting the beacon. You had been so enraptured with puzzling a way for portal traveling, that you had let your once well-used desk become cluttered and disastrous. When you finally broke down to clean it up, you found a small piece of paper tucked up against your monitor; his scrawled, messy handwriting jumped out at you, and your heart had leapt. Your mind raced while you silently mouthed thank you's, believing that he had left you a way to get back to him._

_Your heart plummeted to your feet as you read through the note, seeing the short, impersonal instructions for what they were; not a tether to him, but a full stop in your reaching to him. The words explained that the beacon needed to be reset every three days, in order to maintain the barrier that would keep the Federation from tracing his location to the city in the future._

_Nowhere in it did it say that the entire thing would shut down for a moment before restarting itself._

_When the intricate machine came to a grinding halt and the display went blank, your heart flat-lined, sending a deep wave of dread coursing through your veins; when it restarted, fury chased your dread away, galloping into your ears._

_You had turned your face to the sky, your anger stealing all rational thought from you, and you cursed. You cursed him, loudly, despite the vast distance between. In that moment, you felt him, playing one last trick on you._

That memory played on loop as you made your way back to your house, holding your one moment of truly righteous fury close; these days, it seemed that there was no other emotion worth holding.

 

You weren't entirely certain what had caused you to wake up with your hangover still pounding against your eyes, but you definitely weren't happy about it as you got out of your bed in a foggy daze. The quiet parts of your brain carefully whispered that there was something wrong, that something was missing; the louder parts told those parts to shut the fuck up and let you think.

Making your way down the stairs, you looked over your home; despite looking as though it had been ransacked (your doing, of course), nothing seemed amiss. As you made your way towards your front door, a low growl of thunder echoed.

Good, let it fucking pour, you thought, throwing the door open to glare into the darkness outside.

It took thirty seconds for your eyes to transfer information to your brain, causing all the parts of your brain to silence themselves. 

It took sixty seconds for you to begin running down the street towards the Town Hall.

When the familiar thrumming didn't ever find your feet, you ran harder than you ever had before, your breaths bursting from your mouth as you pressed yourself forward. 

You erupted onto the rooftop in four minutes, you hands shaking as you grasped at the empty display of the beacon. You frantically tried rebooting the system, desperately clawing through your memory of Rick's directions; not a single word had detailed the protocol for the beacon's failure.

Once again, you found yourself cursing the man who created the damn thing. _Of course_ he wouldn't have included how to fix it, because he never expected it to break down in the first place. And that left you struggling to solve a problem that could easily mean the end of your, albeit unimpressive, life. Taking a deep breath to steady your frenzied heart, you began again, going through the steps of rebooting the system with more patience.

The screen spat out another error code, line after line of failure scrolling across, all the while the beacon itself remained silent. You threw your hands up in defeat, terror striking your chest like lightning as the seriousness of the situation dug deep into your bones. The weight of all the things that could come next rocked your body, sending you to your knees as another growl of thunder sounded; you were struck with memories of the gromflomites storming your city, seeking always what they could not find.

You let your fear fester for only a moment, before you stood, shut yourself down, and did the only thing you knew you could; you raced back to your home, ready to pack your things and go into hiding wherever you could.

 

Far away, back on Earth, Rick sat in the bunker beneath the garage, staring silently at a door he had not opened in a long time. It was horribly plain, enough so to go unnoticed upon a first glance; but his stomach churned, pushing acid into the back of his throat while he worked up the nerve to approach.

“D-Do it, you p-pussy,” he hissed under his breath, “behind that door is the only....the best chance at peace you've got.” Whiskey seared his nostrils as he filled his stomach, trying to chase the unease away; it assuaged the acidic bile away, leaving only a grave certainty in his mind. 

Opening the door and flicking the light on revealed only two things.

A rarely used memory helmet and a small collection of vials, all of them labeled with her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, little update. The side project that I'm working on is taking just a tad bit longer than I expected, mainly because I'm a perfectionist slag. It's a little one-shot that is a present to myself for my birthday (May 6th), so I'll hopefully have it done within the next two days (it's been three days since I wrote the above chapter).
> 
> Don't panic, though, I've already got part of the next chapter figured out, and I won't be disappearing again, this one is still my baby.
> 
> Also, a lovely thank you to PorkChop for helping me through writer's block, and reminding me why I continue this story. She keeps my bipolar brain on track, even when I can't do it myself. She's a real treat (plus she writes smut like it's her job and I dig it).


	4. Just a Notice - Will Delete

Hey guys! 

So, I didn't actually manage to fix my health issues (it will be an ongoing thing that requires things I don't currently have aka insurance), but I'm finally back to normal, so expect the next chapter soon! However, I did realize that I kind of burnt myself out by writing so much so quickly, especially when my brain is a boiling cesspool of various ideas. So, instead of giving myself a specific deadline for chapters and what-not, I'm just going to write them as they come. Sometimes they'll be fast, when the creativity is really flowing, and sometimes they'll be slow, when my other stories steal my focus. But I swear it won't be anything like it was before. I intend to try to aim for at least one update a week, but there's a pretty good chance I'll be writing three or more stories at once, so that'll be three to four separate chapters a week. I think I can manage that, depending on the creativity. We'll see. But just know that the next one is coming soon, and there will also soon be new pieces added to my page!

I'm glad to be back, and I hope you guys are ready for what I've got planned!

x Alice


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